


Ticket to Heaven

by protectoroffaeries



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: 3 Doors Down, Cliffs of Moher, Monster Hunters, Post DOTL, Ticket to Heaven, and then the beautiful, because I love Hungary, inspired by the song I just tagged, it's a personal interpretation, kind of sad guys poor Fletchy, pseudospoilers maybe?, somewhere randomly in Hungary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 10:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7099819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protectoroffaeries/pseuds/protectoroffaeries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fletcher reflects and finds himself back in Ireland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ticket to Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> @shadedforests I am here to make you sad. You're welcome.
> 
> The title and original inspirtation for this story comes from Ticket to Heaven by 3 Doors Down.
> 
> Then I got distracted by cliffs, so an additional inspiration comes from the breathtaking Cliffs of Moher. If you've never been to or seen pictures of the cliffs, I would recommend a Google search and a trip to Ireland.

After everything, Fletcher ends up with the Monster Hunters and Saracen Rue. They travel around the world, hunting monsters as Gracious and Donegan had done for centuries before. Gracious and Donegan gradually regain their humor over time, but Saracen barely smiles. 

Fletcher is grateful for his melancholy. He feels like he can't smile either, though he didn't lose nearly as much as Saracen has. He never had that much to lose. 

Before he discovered his magic, all he had was his father. His father doesn't give a damn about him, never did, just took Fletcher’s mother to court and somehow managed to win custody so that he wouldn't have to pay child support. Fletcher’s mother told him that, in simpler terms, the morning of the trial, when he was only five years old. It didn't take long for her to be proven right, but by then it was too late. 

Wherever she is (and Fletcher has tried to find her, dammit, but he has no idea where she disappeared to after she lost him), Fletcher is certain she has heard about him, the last teleporter (although she might not be aware that he is her son with the taken name and all), because she is definitely a sorceress. He can't remember if she ever shared that fact with him when he was younger. It doesn't matter. If she had, he would've dismissed it as he'd grown anyway. 

After he discovered his magic, he felt free. It was why he'd been so stupid and obvious with it. He didn't need anything. Not anymore. He wanted for nothing.

Then, of course, there'd been Skulduggery and Valkyrie, around whom the world seems to revolve. Fletcher was angry with Valkyrie for a long time, but he feels alright when he thinks about her now. Sometimes he wonders how she is, how her family is. He never goes by Ireland to check.

Australia. Myra. He doesn't think about that. He hasn't dated anyone since. 

Fletcher glances up at the sky, takes a swig from the beer in his hand. The Monster Hunters always have beer on hand, and Fletcher drinks it more because it is there than because he really likes it. 

They're in Hungary this week, not terribly far from Budapest. Fletcher can't remember what Donegan said they're hunting. Doesn't matter. They'll remind him in the morning. 

They're in a quaint little hotel, probably the only one in the sleepy town. Donegan and Gracious have the room next door, and Fletcher can hear Gracious snoring from where he stands on his tiny balcony. Saracen’s asleep on the bed, which means Fletcher has the option of fighting with pullout couch or letting half of his legs hang over the edge of the arm of the couch. Neither sound particularly appealing. 

Fletcher starts to wonder what his life would've been like if he didn't have magic, but he stops himself. He always does. He can't consider such a thing because, for better or worse, he does have magic and this is his life.

Fletcher takes another sip of beer and just hopes he doesn't live as long as his friends have. To watch the world change so drastically, to see so many people die… Fletcher doesn't want that. He's counting on one of these monsters to help him with his ‘live fast, die young’ philosophy. 

Fletcher runs his fingers through his hair, sighing. He still tries to remember to spike it up with hair gel, but sometimes he forgets. His days are busier than they've ever been. Hi hair yields to his fingers, soft and wild. Forgot today, then.

He looks over the edge of the balcony. There's a small patch of grass underneath it. It's not nearly as pretty as the view he'd gotten looking up. He takes another sip of beer. 

If he were to jump from it, it wouldn't do much damage. He's not sure why that thought comes to mind, but it is true. The balcony’s fairly low. 

He thinks of some places that'd do some serious damage if he jumped from them. Any skyscraper, most definitely. The beautiful Cliffs of Moher in Ireland. They come to mind specifically. Fletcher visited them once, when the world wasn't ending. 

He wants to be there now, so he teleports.

It's an hour earlier in Ireland, but it's still the middle of the night. No one sees him out there but the stars. 

He's standing on the path, the one made for tourists and lined with large swaths of wood to keep them from standing too close to the edge. Fletcher jumps the wooden barrier, just like many of those tourists. 

He stands as close to the edge as he can. He's not wearing any shoes, so his sock covered toes hang over off the cliff. Pebbles break away under his weight and trickle down toward the water. 

Fletcher isn't going to jump, despite the thoughts that led him to the cliffs. He's not suicidal. And even if he were, he'd be a bit more practical about his death. 

No, he just stands there, watching the water lap against the sides of the cliff far below. It's a clear night. The ocean is calm. It's a hell of a lot more peaceful than that hotel in Hungary. 

Fletcher steps back from edge after an undeterminable amount of time. He doesn't have a watch on him, doesn't have his phone, doesn't even really care about the time. He sits down and remembers his beer. Takes another swig. And another. And another until he finishes it off. He thinks about chucking the empty bottle off the cliff, but decides against it. It’d be a shame to soil such a place with litter.

So he just sets the bottle beside him with the intention of taking it back to Hungary with him. He lies down in the damp grass, ignoring the chill it gives him. The stars are beautiful. The sound of the ocean lapping against the cliffs is soothing. Fletcher, a troubled and lonely young man, falls asleep on the cliffs.


End file.
